He Always Leaves At Night
by chartreuseian
Summary: The man he was is gone and soon he will be too but, as always, he has his reasons... ONESHOT


**So this is a dark little piece all about our favourite de-vamped vamp, set just after Sleepers... I'm not entirely sure why but this one was written to 'Something to Hold,' by Emma Dean.**

**Enjoy isn't quite the right word but you get my drift...**

* * *

><p>He always left at night, it was easier that way.<p>

The moonlight flittered into the room as he grabbed the last of his things. He went about it methodically, not thinking about where he was going or what he was doing, just packing and folding. He rarely bought anything with him on his visits, Helen always kept his closet full and clean but this time he had bought a few more trinkets with him. Normally he used his assigned room for nothing more than changing but nowadays he could testify that she had given him one of the softest beds ever.

He shivered at that.

Maybe she had changed it, when it became apparent he'd actually need it. Maybe it had been a brick, hard and unforgiving until he'd changed again.

The room was cold, the fire having gone untended. There was no need to stoke it he had decided earlier, it wasn't as if the room needed to be warm. He clicked closed the clasps on his suitcase and the sound reverberated around the room. He reached out and flicked off the lights, plunging himself into that darkness he used to revel in.

Shivers flew up his spine.

He always left at night, when he was certain she was asleep. He always had. Their goodbyes had always been uncomfortable. After more than a century neither could say goodbye, just in case it was forever. He remembered the last time he's said goodbye to Nigel. The next time he'd seen his friend he was dead, cold and lying in a casket. Of course he'd watched the funeral from the shadows, hiding being essential. They'd never been particularly close but Nikola had felt deep sorrow that he'd never been able to say a real goodbye to the man.

But time moved on. Now he only had one goodbye left to say. He knew one day he'd arrive back here only to find that she was dead. And they would never get to say goodbye. Or he would be dead. Probably the latter. And his goodbye would go unheard.

Another shiver.

He wanted to stay, she wanted him to stay but neither could ever come up with a reason why he should. He could not provide for her the things she needed, not anymore. Silently he cursed his old, cocky self. He thought he'd had all the time in the world to seduce her, that their flirting could go on for as long as he wanted. He never doubted that she'd fall for him eventually but he now felt like he fell short. She could never be his.

He could smell her hair. Always. It was like she had never changed her shampoo. The scent was soft, always following him.

Another shiver.

He made his way to the door, looking back only briefly. One day this room would lie empty, not his. Would she visit it? Would she pine for the days when she could find him here?

Would he?

Nothing left a mark, he was invisible in this room. His story would not be left here, it was scattered, across the world. He would die alone, just like the man in a hotel room. The man the word thought to be Nikola Tesla would one day be him. He would become himself.

"_You are now your real self."_

She'd said that and his heart had plunged. Time would move on and leave him behind. He closed his eyes against the darkness in front of him. He had been flaky, never being anywhere with any real consistency. He'd had eternity so he'd taken his time, meandering around the world, through experiences, never giving his name.

He no longer had an eternity, he had a life. And would have nothing to show for it. The Nikola Tesla he was was gone. He couldn't be that man again. Even if he could, he wouldn't. The man was a fading blackness, resting on the outskirts of history, edging into obscurity every day just that little bit more. He had nothing, no brave sacrifice for the greater good, no legacy.

He had nothing. Nothing to his name, nothing in his name.

Nothing to hold.

He was gone, alone in this world.

Step by step he took himself away from the room that would one day be someone else's.

This was why he always left at night. It was darker, cooler, more forgiving than the bright lights of the daytime. Darkness was his friend on nights like these. Of course these kinds of nights had gotten harder and harder ever since he'd killed himself.

He knew it was melodramatic but…

He was at the front door. There was a cab waiting for him. In the morning he'd be in some other part of the world, away from this. She knew he'd be gone though he'd never said the words. She'd looked at him over dinner and nodded, her eyes steely. They both knew he had to go.

It had never been this hard before. Never. He wanted to turn, run to her and… and… and lose himself in her. He knew she'd give in and that was the one thing stopping him.

Pity.

He was pitied by everyone here. He was nothing anymore. That's why he had to go. She'd give in because she felt guilty. Guilty for not trying to fix him, not trying to make him himself again. He wanted to go back to before.

When she was in the cupboard, tied up and he'd made some stupid comment about bondage. He wanted to go back and tell her everything. How Rome had been a mistake. How she made his heart sing. How he loved her, loved her in a way that had fundamentally changed him.

He wanted to go back to their friendship, the way it was. He wanted her to shoot him when she got angry, he wanted her to yell at him, berate him for something inane. He wanted her to treat him as a equal in every way again.

The night air was cool on his face and he let out a yawn, hating his new weakness. The essence of their relationship was gone. He missed his friend, the one who never lied to him, the one who would bring him back down to earth.

He had to go. He had to find away to reclaim everything he had lost. He had to find a way back to her. To them. Determination swelled in his gut.

He'd always left at night but this night was different.

This night he'd had no other choice.


End file.
